Washouts and Wash ups

The firewood pile looks good, if a little small! But I figure I'll be sitting a little higher. Once I get paid for my firewood.

If you all recall, that wood had been waiting for trucking for a spell. The road washed out in spring 2005 when a quick thaw turned 6 feet of winter into 2 feet of mud.

The Dibbley boys and their hi-ho replanted the culvert and JM's mighty 9400 dumped 100 tons of riprap and gravel to anchor everything. Took two days and a few cases of brew and somehow we lost a roundhead shovel. But everything got fixed.

Red Brown, our colorful commissioner, at first protested. "You can't alter a running crick!"

"We ain't altering nothing. We're putting it back!"

Red's a reasonable man. "We'll I ain't been up to see the washout, so I guess when it's fixed it'll look the same as I remember it. I hope I won't be thirsty when I get back from inspecting everything."

"I'll have a cold case for you, Red." A man's got to have some reason to be township road commisioner. Sure ain't the pay or the hours!

"On call 36 hours a day!" Red's wife says. "And for less than Emmy earns in a good week at the diner."

If we went through regular channels, as they say, we'd still be waiting for an evironmental engineer to tell us that the creek flooded and washed the road out! Then they'd have a good long study to figure out how to put the creek back in its natural bed. We avoid regular channels at all costs around here.

Rustler's looking over my shoulder. Seems this is being scribbled on the scrap he's using to mark his hours.

"Mr Stump," Rustler has become a polite dude! (Sorry, I couldn't resist, dude.) "Mr Stump, thanks for not being official. "

"Yeah, well ... shouldn't you be washing that Durango."

"All done, Mr Stump!"

That Rustler's not a washout anymore, either. Not often that kinda thing happens. But when it does, well, a man feels that God is back in his heaven.

"Say, Rustler, I think you need to meet Pastor Rick! You just might be an inspiration."

Firewood Rustlers and Eminent Domain

Johnny Mack, my good friend and neighbor, pulled into my laneway. "I figured you had a problem," JM said.

And the answer was his 1991 International 9400. It's got a dump and a 13 speed transmission. A real man's truck! And it will go places my Durango will not!

He could have left the truck and asked me to return it when I was done with it. But being neighborly, he offered a day's labor, too. "It won't load itself," he said, urging me from my chair.

Off to the woods to get my firewood. Or, rather, to get most of my firewood. Seems some miscreant helped himself to the sweat of my brow.

JM, farmer, trucker, and very observant man, noted the tire tracks had a distinct slash in the tread. "We'll look for Wood Rustler, later."

To make a long story short. We found Wood Rustler! New kid to the area, renting the old Renwick place, a few miles from my farm. Wood Rustler was riled up when we confronted him!

"I need the wood. This place is going to be cold!"

Well, he could look past his thieving nose! But, he figures he can just help himself to another man's property! Just because he needs it!

As I said before, I need an old farm truck!

"Just like those folk in Cooper City," said JM, " down in Florida. Council people deciding to take folk's stuff if a hurricane hits!"

Wood Rustler sneered. "Hey dude, what's that got to do with my wood?"

JM quickly got himself between me and the Wood Rustler. "Just because they need it ain't a reason for anyone taking anything. Not even official type folk."

Course I couldn't see the look on JM's face but suddenly Wood Rustler picked up a chunk of my firewood and tossed it -- into the International's dump. JM is fierce on a man's natural rights!

So far the official folk in Cooper City aren't backing down. Seems everyone's generator and chainsaw are still subject to emergency seizure. Tool Rustlers!

They ain't met me and JM yet! Both of us be glad to spend some time meeting the Tool Rustlers. Especially come January!

Now I got to find a job for Wood Rustler. So he can pay me for the firewood. (Yeah, we left it. No sense in hauling it out just to haul it back.) It's going to be cold at the old Renwick place come winter.